


Way, way back in the year 2000,

by sebviathan



Category: Clone High
Genre: (not wally and carl tho don't worry), Angst, Backstory, Bad Parents, Canon Compliant, First Meetings, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, JFK's pov only, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Underage Drinking, canon-typical behavior regarding underage sex but it's only referenced. NOT explicit. no details
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28108506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: He's seen the guy around plenty, and he knows of him well enough, because who doesn't.He doesn't think he's ever spoken to him outside of a classroom, though. And just about every time JFK sees him, he wonders why.
Relationships: JFK/Ponce "Poncey" de León (Clone High)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	Way, way back in the year 2000,

**Author's Note:**

> If it wasn't clear enough, they're both 14 here. It seems to be the widespread headcanon that they're childhood friends but I honestly don't quite get that vibe just based on a lot of other small facts that don't feel like they add up with that, so I hope this sort of headcanon jonce origin story will convince some ppl of otherwise.

He's seen the guy around plenty, and he knows of him well enough, because who hasn't.

He doesn't think he's ever spoken to him outside of a classroom, though. And just about every time JFK sees him, he wonders why.

Ponce is just as cool as any guy that JFK hangs around, if not cooler. Everyone thinks so. He doesn't even seem to _try_. He's in no particular position to be looked up to. He's not in any sports, he doesn't work out, he barely even participates in P.E.—which is maybe one of the reasons they've barely talked. That, and that he isn't a girl.

Meanwhile JFK can pinpoint his own popularity on his athleticism, his muscles, and occasionally his genius pranks. It's vaguely occurred to him a few times that he might be jealous of the lack of effort that Ponce has ever needed to put in. But he never lets that thought sit for long. He just moves on to trying to figure out what exactly it _is_ about Ponce de Leon that gets him so much attention—from himself included, even if he tries not to show it.

He's just... pretty quiet, but not shy. And smart but not nerdy. Nice, but not lame about it. Not to mention the jacket and the hair, which wouldn't work on anyone else because no one else would be as confident about it.

Somehow JFK is surprised to see that Ponce is dressed like that even in the summertime. That, unlike him, how that guy dresses seems to be entirely for himself.

Even considering that, he's still surprised to see him _here_ of all places.

He blames his distraction on that surprise when Sinatra crashes into him and, instead of bouncing off whatsoever, sends him flying several feet backwards.

" _Woah—! Shit, Kennedy, you alright?_ " he hears distantly, through several layers of ringing in his ears. The back of his head burns from the collision despite the helmet, and his lungs are empty, and Sinatra grappling with him to press off and stand up is making wherever he touches feel very weird.

And after all that, his first instinct is to glance over at the bleachers. Through the grate he can just barely make out Ponce standing up, like he's trying to get a better look. Then he feels good as new and ready to stand back up.

"Yeah, yeah," he grunts, coughing and cracking his joints. "I uh, was just zoning out. Rush me again."

*

He tries not to pay much attention to the one occupant of the bleachers anymore, if only to avoid more incidents like that. Just the one already got the attention of the rest of the team and plenty of comments about that kind of thing _never_ happening to him—he's almost afraid to look in that whole direction, even, up until most everyone else has left for the showers.

Ponce is still sitting there. Just leaning back, eating from a bag of chips. JFK makes definite eye contact with him and immediately decides that now he has no choice _not_ to go see what his deal is.

"Hey!" he shouts upon walking up. In a moment he meets the metal fence and leans against it. "You, er, uh... lookin' to try out or something?"

Ponce pauses mid-chew and, cheeks still stuffed, looks around as though he might have been addressing anyone else. Then he swallows and shakes his head and laughs.

"Me? Nah, _never_ , I—no offense," he says with a sheepish grin. "It's just really not my thing. But... nah, man, I was just walking around and got bored and thought I might as well take a seat here where there's... y'know, seats. And a vending machine. And some _foobaw_ to watch."

JFK quirks a frown. "It's just practice."

Ponce shrugs. "Still something to watch, I guess."

He wonders why the guy doesn't mention seeing JFK eat shit earlier. He wonders if it just wasn't interesting enough. Then he decides that he doesn't like wondering that, so he impulsively switches to wondering something else:

"Hey, how do you get your hair like that?"

So impulsively that he said it out loud. _Oops._ A moment of Ponce's clear confusion stretches into forever and JFK simply has to break the silence again, just so his embarrassment doesn't eat him alive.

"I mean I, er, uh—I've actually been thinkin' about changing my hair to that style but I dunno how to, uh... get the volume without it looking weird."

It's not entirely true, but it's not a lie, either. He hasn't _been_ thinking about it, at least not nearly as long as he knows he's implying. Ponce seems to believe it.

"Oh, I got a special kinda mousse and hairspray," he tells JFK, running one hand up over his pompadour. Some of his hair shifts under his fingers, but it still stays in place. Like it's just naturally like that, and like he's showing it off. "...If you wanna come over to my place, you can try some of it and see if it works for you before, y'know. Going off and buying your own."

Money is so little of an issue for him that he'll often make a point of spending it on things that he won't use, just because he can. He likes to make people jealous and he knows it. He does it to his teammates all the time, especially at restaurants after they've won a game. He'll get the most expensive thing on the menu every time.

Not for one second, now, does he think to mention any of that to Ponce de Leon. He's only thinking of how long it's been since he was last invited to a near stranger's house.

At least since kindergarten, he's sure.

"Uh... I gotta hit the showers," he says only as he realizes. Ponce looks slightly disappointed for one second, and that seals it. "But I really won't be that long—you mind waiting like ten or fifteen minutes?"

To JFK's surprise, Ponce just sits back down.

"Sure," he shrugs. "I'll be right here."

*

He hates being late to the locker room. It's so much harder to avoid seeing how naked everyone is when he has to walk past them all to get to an available shower. And _then_ it's just impossible to escape the jabs that'll come from his embarrassment being obvious.

Usually something along the lines of "C'mon, JFK, we're all guys here," and "you act like you've never seen one a'these before!"—followed, naturally, by something even harder to ignore. He's sure the other guys don't think that their teasing does anything worse than annoy him. If they knew otherwise, it would be so much worse.

Today, Julius Caesar beats everyone else to calling him out for making it late—but brings up something else instead of rehashing the same joke.

"Io, JFK, I didn't know you were friends with Ponce de Leon?"

He almost stops in his tracks, before remembering that he really doesn't want to be making eye contact with anyone.

"I, er—yeah, I guess," he says. The idea of trying to articulate the truth not only feels impossible, but also makes him feel a little sick. He strips as quickly as possible, towel at the ready to cover himself back up. "I mean, who isn't?"

Caesar accepts that response and goes on about how everyone likes that guy—which makes him realize that it's actually more of the reverse. The whole school isn't _his_ friend. It's _Ponce_ who's everybody's friend.

And JFK is just about everyone's bully, when he thinks about it. Including all the guys on the team, though they do bully him back.

What made a guy like that want to invite a guy like _him_ over is beyond him.

*

"That you, Juan?"

"Yeah, I got a friend over."

They walk past the front of the house and stand in the archway to Ponce's living room, where his dad waves at them from his armchair. As the man glances to him, JFK prepares to answer when he's inevitably either asked which clone he is or faced with some guesses—

"Well, there's Capri Suns in the fridge and cookies on the counter if you boys want any," is all he says before turning his attention back to the TV. He seems very invested in the hospital show that's on.

"Thanks, Dad."

Then Ponce starts walking in the opposite direction of the kitchen, leaving JFK to decide that he'll grab some of those cookies on his way out. A moment later, he catches up with his own thoughts and frowns and turns to Ponce and says,

" _Juan?_ "

"Huh? Oh—yeah, that's my name, I just don't use it at school. Like..." He gives a heavy sigh and leans against the wall. "What's the point, right? Hardly anyone knows that was Ponce de Leon's first name and _god forbid_ we not be recognizable as the people we were cloned from..."

He laughs and keeps walking, and JFK doesn't really understand so he says nothing while he follows. Instead he glances around at the framed photos on the wall—a few are Ponce and his parents, but most are just of his mom. He doesn't think much of it until he notices a marble box sitting on a shelf at the end of the hall, with what must be her name engraved into it. When he looks away from it and back to Ponce he's afraid for a moment that the guy will have noticed him staring, but all he does is tap him on the arm and turn the knob on the nearest door.

"Bathroom's right here."

He'd almost forgotten why he even came here in the first place. And it's only been maybe ten minutes since he even left the showers, with Ponce living so close to the high school. The sight of his own face in the mirror comes as a brief reality check.

"So, uh..."

Ponce is already rifling through the cabinet while JFK shoves his hands deeper into his pockets.

"Here," he says as he pulls out that mousse and spray that he mentioned earlier, and before JFK knows it he's letting Ponce put it in his hair with his own hands.

Practically speaking, it's probably for the best. JFK's hair has been growing out for a year now and he's done nothing with it, and clearly Ponce knows what he's doing. It's not much different from getting his hair done at a barber, he thinks. Other than that he's the one standing, and Ponce is just sitting on the sink.

He watches in the mirror as his neck-length shag gets yanked around and combed up, feeling ridiculous all the way up until Ponce abruptly turns and grabs the spray and tells him to cover his face with a towel.

When he takes it off, he sees a whole new guy entirely.

"Well? How you like it?"

JFK shares a brief look with him through the mirror and grins.

"Shit, Ponce, it looks great."

"Y'know, I think it would actually look even better if you had less hair in the back—or not, you might like the whole mullet look, I dunno. It's not bad. But if you want me to I can just trim that inch off right now. I promise I won't fuck it up."

All of that just vaguely makes it to his ears while he keeps staring at this new version of him. He can't help but wonder what everyone else will think of it, but all through it, he frankly likes the guy in the mirror too much to be worried. Then Ponce taps him on the shoulder and snips a pair of scissors with raised eyebrows.

"Oh—uh, yeah, sure," he says, already eager to lose that inch. "Go ahead."

JFK has never felt so much like checking out his own reflection before. He's definitely keeping this.

*

It would be pretty weird of him to just leave or otherwise offer absolutely nothing in return, if nothing else. Not to mention he hasn't had the chance to try two-player on his new Nintendo 64 yet. Ponce warns him on the way to his house that he's _not very good at video games, so I might not be fun to play with._ JFK insists through a mouthful of chocolate chip-capri sun mush that _eh, you'll be fine._

Anticipating an uncomfortable conversation with his parents—more for Ponce than for himself, he takes him around to go in through the back door. As expected, without actually seeing a second kid, they don't feel the need to investigate. His mom stays in the kitchen and his dad stays on the couch and no one says anything other than shouting at the game on the TV.

Ponce only speaks after they make it upstairs, while JFK opens his bedroom door:

"You not allowed to have people over or something?"

"Nah, just trust me, you don't wanna meet 'em."

"Why?" Ponce's voice gets quieter then, like he's concerned. JFK's stomach drops. He doesn't want that kind of concern.

"They're, uh—well, annoying," he supplies after a couple moments, practically leaping across his room to get his box of games. Mostly so he has an excuse not to look at him. "They'd try to talk to you forever. We'd wind up with barely any time to play anything before you had to go. You wanna play Donkey Kong?"

***

"Y'know, Ponce, I think you really wouldn't be half bad at football if you uh. Did wanna try out."

"Eh, I'm too short for it."

"Dude, Napoleon is on the team."

"That actually confuses me. The original Napoleon wasn't really that short. You think when they cloned him they did that on purpose?"

"Ha, maybe. Sucks for him. But seriously, you should try out. We need another running back and you seem kinda squirrely."

JFK spent a lot of yesterday wondering if that one little hangout was it, if it was really just an exchange of niceties and then they'd go back to only talking for school reasons—and then

Ponce showed up for the tail end of practice again today. So they're lying on the bean bag chairs in JFK's room and playing video games again. This time it's GoldenEye and Ponce is surprisingly kicking his ass.

"Sorry, Jack, just the idea of spending as much time practicing as you do... I'm just not up to it. I'd rather enjoy the rest of my summer."

Ponce proceeds to kill him in the game. JFK blames him combination of disappointment and confusion, but tosses the controller in spite nevertheless. Then he turns and folds his arms.

"...You know the J stands for John, right?" He's never heard anyone get _that_ wrong, before.

Ponce frowns and tilts his head. "Yeah, and Jack's a nickname for John. Especially for the original JFK—everyone called him Jack. You never heard that?"

Now that he thinks about it, he does recall his clonefather being referred to that way in the old tapes that he has. He just never thought anything of it with everyone around him, his parents included, mostly only ever calling him _JFK_.

He shrugs and leans forward to get the controller back. "I guess you just pay more attention in class than I do. Nerd."

A brief glance in Ponce's direction lets him see the guy looking amused and not offended. He actually feels some tension in his stomach ease up, from that.

"Know anything else about JFK that I don't?" he then wonders aloud, with a short laugh.

"Sure," Ponce says easily, staring only at the TV. "I could tell you a few things about almost everyone who's been cloned."

"Nerd," JFK repeats.

"Like, for example, good ol' Jack Kennedy was addicted to sex. Like, _literally_ addicted. He had sex every single day with a bunch of different women 'cause he would feel sick if he didn't. Apparently had his best friend arrange a lot of his affairs for him, too."

Now _that_ , he can't believe he never knew.

" _Damn_ ," he breathes. He's barely paying attention to where his character is going. "...Cool."

*

His dad hates the new hair, but not enough to say so more than once. His mom thinks it's nice that his hair is out of his eyes, says that he even looks more like the "real" JFK now.

At breakfast a couple mornings later, it occurs to him to start a conversation with them for the first time in a long time:

"Hey, did you guys know that JFK's nickname was Jack?"

"Of course we knew that," his dad snaps from behind a newspaper. "I saw him get shot live. How would I not know that?"

"Yeah, everyone knows that, hun," his mother confirms.

_So why the fuck did you never—_

He stops himself before the thought makes it to his mouth and decides simply to not say anything further. He knows the answer to that, anyway. In the next thirty seconds he scarfs down his cereal, leaves the table without excusing himself or putting the bowl in the sink, and walks out the front door.

He didn't know it until he stepped outside, but he's on his way to the library. High school starts in a couple weeks and not only has he yet to do any of the assigned reading, but he's realized how little information he's retained in school thus far. There's just been no reason to, what with how much being a quarterback helps him get away with anything he wants, and how much his parents clearly wouldn't care even if he didn't.

But he may very well be one of the only kids in his grade who will still barely know anything about their own clonefathers. While being inside a library and anywhere outside of the movie section runs the risk of getting perceived the wrong way, it's a risk he's willing to take if the alternative is looking as stupid as he felt the other day.

Or he's at least willing up until he takes a look at the size of a lot of the history books in there. He's very suddenly all but turned off from the whole thing, imagining only the drudgery of staring at words all day. Even if those words are technically about himself.

He's already here, though. And he'd rather not go back home. He figures he might as well wander the aisles and _look_ like he's browsing for a while. Maybe he'll find something short about JFK to read. With pictures and not just dull blocks of text, hopefully.

...Then he doesn't. Nothing short _enough_ catches his eye within ten minutes, and after that he unknowingly passes the U.S. Presidents section. He only realizes when he spots a familiar name on a thin, blue spine.

*

All he ever knew about the original Ponce de Leon before now was that he was trying to find the fountain of youth. Apparently even that was a myth the whole time.

The next immediate chance he gets, he tries to tell the current Ponce about the handful of fun facts he's finally learned. In hindsight he should have guessed that the guy already knows everything he could possibly say. Particularly that his name is even one of the most recent to be signed on the checkout card of that book—granted, JFK just stole it rather than check it out himself.

As nice as Ponce is about it, JFK is still embarrassed. And _God_ , is he getting tired of feeling embarrassed.

There is a fleeting, just barely out-of-reach thought that _I can't hang out with him anymore._ Just to spare himself the burn of various levels of shame that he's had in the past week.

...Then Ponce says that he got his dad to rent American Pie for him and asks if JFK wants to watch it.

Later that night, he gets home and sees the book on his desk and is struck with the thought again. It takes a firmer hold this time, repeating itself even after he puts the book in a drawer and gets some sleep and spends a whole (fairly boring) day in which Ponce isn't involved whatsoever. It's way worse than what that thought is trying to save him from, frankly. It's stupid. JFK decides his brain is just fucked up or something and figures he shouldn't listen to it.

Of course, he's decided that many times before, and it's never quite worked out. One of these days he's sure his efforts will pay off. In the meantime he hopes he can just relax and enjoy his last week of summer.

*

JFK really isn't sure whether or not he'd call his teammates his friends. Sure, they'll all talk and joke in the weight room and in the school hallways, and they'll go out to eat or bowl after a game, and they'll sit together at lunch... but most of them, he barely knows outside of football or any losers that they may have pushed around together.

They're his _lads_ , he'll say. His boys and whatnot. But he doesn't _like_ any of them enough to try to spend time with them unless he's been explicitly invited. He rarely does the inviting, either, if only because no one who meets his parents wants to come over again.

He's not sure if he even knows any of their birthdays, or if they know his. He supposes that for the more recently-living clones, he could just look them up. But he's never cared to.

When he asks Ponce, he's only thinking of it as a curiosity—considering that the one thing that wasn't mentioned at all about the original Ponce de Leon in that book was when he was born. In spite of everything, JFK felt driven to go back to the library and look in a different book, only to still see no mention other than that it's unknown. He figured that if anyone knew it, it would be Ponce himself.

According to him, no one's even sure what _year_ the original guy was born. So he defaults to celebrating the day his foster parents took him home, which was early in the summer.

"Aw, I missed it," is JFK's first instinct to say.

"Ha, it's fine. I don't usually do much for my birthday anyway. Yours is—sometime in May, right?"

"...How do you just _remember_ all this stuff?"

Ponce shrugs. JFK only hears the slide of cloth against carpet because they're both lying flat on his floor, but he knows that's what it is at this point.

"I dunno, I just do. Everything I ever learn just sticks, I guess."

" _Lucky,"_ he mutters under his breath.

"Huh?"

"Uh... I, er—nothin'." JFK pushes himself up, tired of staring at the patterns on his ceiling. "You know what, Ponce, I'm gonna get you a late birthday present."

He's not surprised when his friend argues, but when he insists that this has nothing to do with him feeling bad and everything to do with him just already having the perfect gift in mind and not wanting to wait until next year... he _is_ a little bit surprised that Ponce then lets it go so quickly. And also suddenly worried that his idea will be disappointing, now that there's some expectations set.

The thing is, with the football locker rooms being directly attached to the high school, sometimes before or after practice he and the other guys will hang out in the halls. Coach Ruth doesn't care because it's an opportunity for them to get acclimated to the building before they start the school year. Coach likely doesn't realize that some of the doors are left unlocked, including the theatre department's.

Inside of which, JFK has noticed a pair of poofy pants that look just like the ones that the original Ponce de Leon wears in the pictures of his statue. He might have stolen them last time around if a couple of the other guys weren't in the room with him. Though he doesn't know why their presence makes a difference.

*

When he's holding them between himself and Ponce, he feels like they don't look as good as he remembers. _Oh fuck, they look too silly, don't they?_

"I think you can pull 'em off," JFK says to reassure himself more than the boy across from him. "I didn't notice if you had any clothes to be like your clonefather and I, uh... feel like I've seen most of us have _something_ , so—"

"You're right, I didn't." Ponce takes the pants from him and grins down at them. "Thanks a million, Jack."

Struck with a wave of relief, JFK grins back.

Then as Ponce announces he should try them on and proceeds to casually take his jeans off right there, JFK feels suddenly dizzy and averts his eyes. He's just barely calmed down by the time the new pants are on.

"Oh, hell yeah," Ponce mutters, striding across the room so he can look in JFK's body-length mirror. "...Yeah, I think I might stick with these. I wanna see what people think. Ooh—I'm gonna have to get some boots to go with it, though."

***

JFK's new hair makes it obvious enough that he's getting ideas from Ponce, not to mention that the guy almost always comes to football practice now and his team clearly notices... so he doesn't know why he feels nervous to behave like friends once they're among the crowd of freshmen in front of the high school.

It's not like he made friends with some nerd over the summer. Ponce is _cool_. They're just two cool, popular, likable guys who are finally hanging out. Nothing wrong with that at all.

Come to think of it, now that they're in the youngest grade in the building, _are_ they even popular anymore? Or do they start back at square one? Somehow the notion actually makes him feel a bit better.

"I wouldn't worry, man," Ponce tells him when he mentions it. "I think most of the older clones are kinda prototypes anyway. A lot more of 'em are just not... all _there_ , y'know? Pretty sure some aren't even totally human. See— _that_ guy's got a snout. And that girl has hooves, I think. Yeah. We're fine."

_Oh, huh. Gross._

Regardless, he finds himself much readier to go as far as to drape an arm over Ponce's shoulders as they walk inside.

*

If it wasn't a mere hour into the first day of his freshman year, JFK would assume he was in trouble. It _could_ be about something he did in 8th grade that simply took until now to catch up with him—but then, he doubts that he would be the only one here in that case.

"So... you, uh, gonna tell me why you called me in here?"

"That's _Principal_ Scudworth to you," the man says, turning his nose up.

JFK frowns. "I... didn't say your name at all?"

"Oh." The principal very quickly relaxes and grabs a file folder from the corner of his desk, and sounds even cheery as he says, "In that case, Mr. John Fitzgerald Kan— _Ken_ nedy... I've been informed by your parents that as of today, they are now—hm, what was the phrasing they used? ...Oh, right. They're leaving. So—"

" _What?_ "

"I said they're leaving. So now what _I_ have to do is—"

"What do you _mean_ they're leaving?" JFK asks louder this time. He's accustomed just fine to the totally dismissive nature of school staff. But he's confused about _that_. "Leaving where?"

Principal Scudworth purses his lips and looks upward, like he's trying to imagine something.

"Oh, I suppose, um... well, separately, I assume. Outside of Exclamation, certainly. I don't believe they gave any details outside of that they"—he opens the folder and reads directly from the first page—"uh... ' _no longer wish to be JFK's guardians, due to interpersonal troubles with him and each other._ ' Yes. So. What that means for _me_ is, ugh... I have only a week to find you replacement parents. Until then, just know you _will_ still be expected to attend school, yadda yadda... And I suppose that's it! You may return to class now."

While the principal simply folds his hands over the desk and grins unnervingly wide at him, JFK's feet feel locked to the floor, and his legs to the chair. His arms actually _are_ still locked to the chair for a moment before the principal presses a button, still grinning.

Even several seconds later, he can no more easily move than he can comprehend what he was just told. Briefly, he lives in the vague memories of overhearing his parents' fights, of retreating to his room so often to avoid it. He lives in that notion of divorce that quietly crossed his mind once or twice. He's the buzz of that very fly that he swatted away so many times before, now on the wall and watching his parents from every angle that he's never seen before all at once... seeing them pack their things. Hearing them talk about saving it for when school started.

For a moment his chair is the one sitting at the breakfast table one last time, and his parents are doing nothing out of the ordinary all while they plan to part ways entirely in a few hours. They're just going to abandon him and he has no idea.

 _They already did,_ he remembers moments later. It already happened. And this is all the explanation he's getting. Just this, and—

"What are you waiting for? Shoo!" Principal Scudworth stands and waves him off. "Be gone with you, I have work to do!"

After JFK is all but chased out of the office, he doesn't go back to class. Instead he spends the next half hour wandering the halls until his legs stop feeling like lead and his stomach isn't trying to kill him. He only starts on his way to class when he sees that there's five minutes until the bell. And he only does it because he shares that class with Ponce.

"What'd you have to go to the office for?' is exactly what he expects to hear, so when Ponce asks, he's ready. He finds himself smiling, in fact.

"I'm gonna have the house to myself for a week, apparently. Wanna help me throw a party?"

Ponce chokes on his laugh. "Are you serious? Like—like a real 'parents aren't home' house party. Like in the movies."

" _Exactly_ like in the movies, Poncey!" JFK doesn't hesitate to shout. The sudden confidence consumes him. "And _you_ know everyone, so you can spread the word. Oh—you know what else? I wanna lose my virginity. I bet the real JFK already did by now."

*

Over the next week, JFK does a lot of things that never would have so much as occurred to him to do, before.

He moves the furniture around in pretty much every room to the walls so that it's almost entirely open space. The only one that doesn't need redecorating is the master bedroom, as it's already been nearly emptied. He goes grocery shopping. With Ponce's help, he buys some snacks and some posters to hang up and make the walls look less naked. He buys some condoms while he's there and makes no secret of it. He picks the trash up from the yard. He _vacuums_.

The heaviest thing on his mind, those five days, is making sure that his party is set to go well. Using what he's seen in movies as a template, he knows that there's really only one thing he needs to attract a lot of partygoers—luckily there are still a few liquor bottles left in the house. He has half a mind to make use of them before Friday evening, but he manages to be patient.

"Y'know, I didn't think house parties like this actually happened in real life," Ponce confesses very shortly before others start arriving, while he's bringing out the solo cups. "What are you actually supposed to _do_ at one other than get drunk and have sex?"

JFK thinks for a moment, scratching the back of his neck.

"Uh... all the things that lead up to sex, I guess. Draw dicks on anyone who falls asleep. If the house isn't yours, you trash it. Do other stupid drunk stuff. There's plenty to do." To punctuate that, JFK pours some coke and vodka into a cup and takes his first sip of the night, and tries hard not to look disgusted. "It'll be fun, man! Don't worry."

*

Despite how much of Ponce went into this party to begin with—into the music, the food prep, and the decor especially—JFK doesn't see much of him throughout the night. He supposes that's his own fault, though, with how consistently he's making his rounds as the host and talking with everyone who came, and of course drinking all the while. His peripheral is blurred because of that, too.

There is a point at which he catches sight of Ponce for the first time in what feels like an hour: He's across the room, looking much farther away than he must be. Sitting cross-legged on the couch, tipping back a solo cup, and talking to a girl. Almost definitely a sophomore, since JFK doesn't recognize her and she doesn't look much older than them. Her hand is on Ponce's knee. Before JFK knows it, they're making out.

The instinct that tells him to be proud of his friend and cheer him on is countered by some sense of urgency to turn away. Neither really take hold, however, before the sight reminds him of what he planned to accomplish tonight.

Oddly enough he's hardly thought about it since he made the initial announcement of said plan. He assumed that it would just sort of... happen. He realizes now that he's going to have to _make_ it happen. In the moment, he comes up short with motivation.

_This is just a hill you gotta get over, Kennedy._

Another solo cup-full goes down the hatch before he gets himself out there.

***

Been a while since he's been woken up by banging at the door, or with such a screaming headache. For a moment he believes they're one in the same. Then he can hear the lock click and the hinges creak, and he opens his eyes to a blinding light.

It fades pretty quickly—after he blinks it away and rubs his eyes out. Only after they've walked in does JFK register the presence of two men, one black with cornrows and a bun, and the other white and bald and fairly large. Just in time for the former to put his hands on his hips and look around exaggeratedly, and say,

"Sure looks like you had fun last night!"

And only after _that_ does JFK also realize that he's on the couch, surrounded by trash on all sides. _Oh, shit._ He scrambles to get up and pull his pants on—and then realizes that his pants were never off, and—

"Oh, don't worry, baby," the same man starts. JFK's head shoots up. "You're not in trouble. Kids will be kids and all that... I'm just so excited to meet you!"

With little warning as far as he can tell—he may very well just be reacting slowly because of a slight hangover—he's being squeezed to death by this stranger. JFK is still reeling, and _very_ confused, and then he notices that the bigger guy is standing a few feet away and just sort of looking awkwardly at the ground...

Once again he has no chance to have any realizations out loud before the man hugging him pulls back and says,

"Oh, who's this?"

It takes JFK a moment to see that this guy is looking over his shoulder, at which he turns around.

"Ponce!" He forgets everything and runs over—he didn't notice him at all before. "What are you still doing here, man?"

His friend stretches awake, sits up, and glances nervously between JFK and the men behind him.

"Uh... well, after everyone else left last night you were still drunk, so. Thought I should stay and make sure you didn't choke on your own puke or anything." He sounds as casual as ever, plus some degree of tired and with a dry throat.

JFK promptly notices the glass of water on the coffee table right next to where his head was when he slept, and the blanket that he definitely didn't put there before the party. Memories from last night finally trickle through: He recalls being helped from the floor onto the couch. Further back, he recalls drinking two more cups after leaving his bedroom with Mary Queen of Scots. He recalls very little of his time _in_ the bedroom with Mary, but he knows what ultimately happened. For a fraction of a second, he can't help but smirk about it.

" _Aw!_ " the man who hugged him interrupts again, throwing clasped hands under his chin.

"That's a real good friend right there," the other man says, so much more gravelly than the first, and gestures at Ponce.

"Aren't you a sweetheart! Ah—I bet _you two_ are just peas in a pod."

JFK definitely gets it now, and that's the _last_ thing he wanted to hear. The implications of what this guy is saying permeate every part of him until he wants to explode. It feels like everyone is staring at him.

He pushes past them before he even speaks, sounding ragged:

"I, uh. Have to go to the bathroom."

*

Less than a minute later, the doorknob jiggles. JFK doesn't look away from the mirror.

"J—Jack? You okay? ...Can I come in?"

He opts to say nothing. The door opens anyway. Ponce shuts it behind him before walking into the reflection.

"So... when were you gonna tell me that you were getting new parents?"

JFK barely even told _himself_ that. He's been trying so hard to forget all week, not caring about the inevitable near future where it was inescapable.

Honestly, he wouldn't have thought that they'd be here _Saturday morning_ either way.

"...I mean, it's not like you ever talked to my old ones," he sniffs.

"I—this has nothing to do with your old parents, man. This is about _you_ having to deal with... this, and that you decided to do it alone."

The look Ponce is giving him through the mirror makes JFK want to turn his attention down to the sink. He watches the water drip from the faucet. He hears Ponce sigh.

"They said they get it, y'know. Those guys out there—Wally and Carl, they're nice guys. They know it's gonna feel weird, they don't expect you to treat them like they've raised you your whole life or anything."

JFK sniffs again and grips the edge of the sink harder.

"Yeah? Do they get how weird it'll be for _me_ to have... _gay_ dads? Do they care about that?"

Ponce is silent for so long, after that, that JFK _has_ to look back up in curiosity. He catches such a brief glimpse of a scowl that he can't be sure it was even there. Especially having never seen that expression on him before. Then Ponce sighs again.

"...You know you won't be the only kid at school to have gay parents, right? Jesus has two dads. Frida and Houdini both have two moms. And plenty of other clones have had a parent leave, or... die." He gets quiet, there, and pauses a moment too long. "Me included. You're still JFK. No one's gonna think any different of you."

Something twists in JFK's gut to tell him that that's not true. He tries to ignore it and fails—at least to ignore the physical part. Now he's too nauseous to stand, so he backs up and takes a seat on the edge of the bathtub.

His head is swimming. For a few seconds he can't bring himself to speak whether he wants to or not. After what feels like forever, though, after everything realigns itself—

"What happened to your mom?" It comes out so quiet he barely recognizes his own voice. In his peripheral, Ponce flinches.

"Huh?"

 _Now_ he's definitely more present. "I'm sorry, I—er. I know I shouldn't—"

"No, it's... it's fine." Almost too slowly, Ponce sits next to him. "She was in a car accident about a year ago."

He nods and watches the top of his hair bob in the bottom of the mirror. "...What's it like not having a mom?"

"I mean... I miss her. My dad and I just picked up all the mom things she did and we're fine at 'em, if that's what you mean. Doesn't make me not miss her."

JFK realizes that he isn't sure whether or not he'll actually miss his mom or dad. He thinks he's already _been_ missing them for the past few years. But his mom did talk to him more. She hugged him and said she loved him more, and gave him advice that didn't amount only to _do what the real JFK did_ more. Still not much, but. More.

And one of his new dads has already hugged him. It was uncomfortable, but thinking about it now, he didn't hate it. He frowns deeper than he already was, struggling to wrap his head around it all. He feels sick in a different way now. Then he remembers something and abruptly straightens his back and turns.

"Hey, do you, uh... want me to call you Juan instead of Ponce?" His friend looks very surprised at that. "Like... your mom must've called you—that's why you use it at home, right? You, uh, sounded kinda annoyed about having to go by Ponce at school, so—"

" _Nah_ , Jack, it's... it's cool." He averts his eyes to the floor but grins, which near instantly numbs JFK's aches. "Ponce is fine. It's just—the name Juan was important to my mom for other reasons. I'm pretty sure that if they could've gotten away with it, she and my dad would never have even told me I was a clone. And my name still would've been Juan. It was just a nice coincidence, really...

"Anyway," he sniffs, mirroring JFK by straightening up. "Thanks for asking. But I feel like it would just make me sad, y'know?"

JFK can understand that just fine. However, seeing Ponce be serious like this makes him feel very weird. He may in fact be ready to get out of the bathroom if only so it can stop.

*

The fact alone that Ponce is comfortable with his new gay dads does make JFK feel better about it too, admittedly. It's funnily enough _after_ they're back in the hallway that he thinks to begin asking which one is Wally and which one is Carl, which one does he think will be more like a mom, and what all did they actually say to Ponce after he left for the bathroom.

Before he gets all his answers, then, he's drawn to the living room by the sound of trash being moved around.

"You feeling alright, baby?" Wally calls out seemingly as soon as he catches sight of him. He and Carl both pause, trash bags in their hands as they stand in small clearings amongst all the solo cups and paper plates and various foodstuffs. "You look like you could use some water."

"He looks like he could use some pickle juice," Carl says with a snicker, resuming the work. "Always helps me out when I've drunk too much."

"Oh!—or a bloody mary. Hair of the dog that bit ya, right?"

"C'mon now, let's not _encourage_ the kid to drink... But electrolytes, Jack, _that's_ whatcha need."

"And if you want alcohol in the future, we're fine with it as long as you keep it in the house! 'Cause I sure as hell know that no damn rules stopped _me_ from getting out and drinking when I wanted to drink—so you might as well be safe about it."

Dumbfounded, JFK looks to Ponce. Who apparently has already left his side to go and get a trash bag of his own. He makes eye contact with him in the kitchen and instantly feels that he's resolved something.

 _Right,_ he thinks. _Guess I should help clean up._

**Author's Note:**

> I have a LOT of thoughts about Ponce's perspective of things and his character in general, but I wanted the focus to remain on JFK here so I'll probably write something else in the future so I can explore Ponce as a character more. In the meantime I hope that certain headcanons of mine shone well enough through JFK's observation of him.
> 
> Also I do wanna elaborate that the biggest reason I don't think Wally and Carl were JFK's original parents is that I'm simply not going to accept the notion of JFK having all this internalized homophobia despite being raised by two gay men??? Like yeah it's a comedy but if I'm taking it seriously enough to have headcanons at all then I'm NOT gonna just cite suspension of disbelief when it comes to something so inherently serious about a character. Not to mention how Wally and Carl are designed as genuinely SUCH homophobic caricatures to begin with like... so much about canon is so dated and I'm working with it on my own comfort level. In any case we know that Gandhi was disowned and re-adopted so the situation that I wrote for JFK is definitely plausible in-universe.
> 
> anyway, here's my jonce playlist: [X](https://bassiter2.tumblr.com/post/634979925650276353)


End file.
